


Don't Tell Me You Can't Pick A Tune From An Open Wound.

by Paragraphss



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU, Assisted Suicide, Dark Will Graham, Depressed Will Graham, Hannibal AU, Hannibal Loves Will, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Murder-Suicide, Probably between episode 11 and 12, Sad, Sad Ending, Sad Hannibal Lecter, Set somewhere in s1, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Will Graham, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Will Loves Hannibal, dark themes, i dont know, i guess?, im sorry, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 07:44:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11916333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paragraphss/pseuds/Paragraphss
Summary: And each word I write, feels heavy with the thought of you.Or, in which Will Graham wishes to die by the hand of his lover.





	Don't Tell Me You Can't Pick A Tune From An Open Wound.

Will Graham often thought about death.

He had definitely seen enough if it. Enough to last a lifetime. Enough to last many lifetimes, really. Enough to drive a normal man insane. But Will Graham wasn't a normal man- Will Graham knew his boundaries, and he knew that he could never really go insane. He could empathise with the killers he caught. He empathised with them, got into their heads, so he knew how to keep the insanity out.

But after meeting Doctor Hannibal Lecter, that all fell to pieces. 

Will hadn't expected to feel something so _fierce_. But he knew he was feeling it when he stepped into his office for the umpteenth time, and Hannibal let him in without a second thought. Hannibal Lecter was a mystery he couldn't figure out; a psychopath he couldn't connect with. He was dressed in so many masks that Will wasn't sure he could take them all off in time.

He knew he was going to die eventually. He accepted it. Be it from Jack's hand, Hannibal's hand,  _his own hand,_ nobody would know, but he was sure that he was going to die, and he was going to die soon. It was inevitable, unchangeable, and unless Will was God, he knew his time was running thin. His timer had been flipped, and the sand was nearly gone.

So yes, Will Graham often contemplated the complexity of dying. He studied the ways he could potentionally do himself, and the ways he could rope others into assisting him with. He looked for the most painful, the most peaceful, the most  _emotional._ He pulled them apart and stuck them back together in his own twisted pattern, like a kid in a build-a-bear workshop. Except he wasn't a kid, he was a grown man, and he was planning his own suicide, not creating some stuffed bear he would forget about two days later. 

He pondered over who could help him. Alana wouldn't, not now, not ever. She valued their friendship too much to help Will off himself. Freddie Lounds was out of the picture too- she would just try to exploit his death to the public, slandering his name by exposing his request for her to help him die. Jack wanted his head for detective work, not rotting in some grave six feet under rock and dirt. 

That annoyed Will. Jack came to him with every single case he found, and he left Will to his own devices, unknowingly or knowingly letting Will dig his own grave. He was sure Jack knew what his empathy was doing to his head, and he was sure he didn't care again the moment, because Will was valuable, and Jack needed him.

Hannibal Lecter was his final candidate. He would probably do it. Despite Will being his unofficial patient, and supposed friend, he would do it, if Will persisted enough. Because Will knew that Hannibal's resolve would break eventually. He knew Hannibal could help him too. He had the skills, the knowledge, the mindset. He was perfect for the job.

But then there was the million-dollar question- how? How would Will Graham, FBI Profiler and slightly deranged, die? Would it be with his wrists red and him slumped in a bath tub? Or would it be Hannibal, holding a smoking gun, as his body topples to the floor? Or would Hannibal die with him, both if them laying in a pool of their own blood, both dead at the hand of the other? 

It was poetic, the last one. Hannibal and Will had been dancing their merry dance for far too long now, and Will didn't know how long he could tap his feet for anymore. He was slipping, his mind breaking under the pressure of Jack, and the constant hallucinations and voices that he heard, and the nagging thought at the back of his mind telling him that Hannibal wasn't his friend, but his enemy, his worst nightmare, his untimely end in human form. And Will accepted that. Death by the hand of himself and Hannibal's would be a death he wouldn't mind having. 

The things he had seen on his cases haunted him. He knew that it was a natural response. I mean, some of the things that had met the eyes of Will Graham are sometimes things that mortal men should not have the power to do. Mortal men should not have the power to judge the living and carve Angels into their skin. Mortal men should not have the power to wield a gun and shoot seven girls, using their bodies to build their home and feed their family. Mortal men shouldn't have the ability to consume their fellow humans.

But Will Graham knew that the people who did those things weren't Mortal. Not really. They were God's stripped of their power. They had the ability to kill, to create, to consume, because God allowed them to. God gave them their gifts, and they did what they were told was right. But that didn't justify their actions. They still killed. It just made it a little easier to understand. In Will's eyes, anyway.

Eventually, Will Graham decided how he wanted to die. He knew who he wanted to be there. He knew who he wanted to help. All he had to do, was prey that Hannibal Lecter would be happy to give him a hand.

"Will. I was not expecting you." Hannibal smiled, opening his door wider. Will looked up suddenly. He had been so engrossed in his thoughts, in his plans, that he hadn't heard Hannibal open his door.  He nodded quickly and ducked inside, slumping in the leather chair he had gotten so used to.

"So, what have you the urge to come and visit me so late?" Hannibal poured some wine into two glasses, and passed one over to Will, who accepted it silently. 

"I'm sorry. It's late." Will apologized half-heartedly. Hannibal waved a hand.

"Nonsense. My home is always open to friends. But I must require an explanation, so I can plan the events accordingly." Hannibal pressed. Will sighed and put his glass down roughly on the table, standing from his seat abruptly. 

"I want you to kill me. Well, help me. Kill myself." He rushed out. Hannibal let out a small laugh.

"Don't be silly, Will. I would never do that." He smiled. Will deflated and slid back into his chair. He was hoping, that by some chance, Hannibal would accept his request immediately. He knew that it was a long shot, but Hannibal would help him eventually. He was sure of it. 

"I'm here to help you get better, Will. Not help you in ending your own life." Hannibal said as a late afterthought. Will frowned.

"But what if it was helping me?"

"I doubt it."

-*-

Will knew his request had been far-fetched. Hannibal was his unofficial psychiatrist- why would he help Will take his own life, when it was his job to save it. Hannibal was his friend, not some guy he was speaking to when his brain felt like mush, and he wasn't sure what was real anymore. Hannibal was his only lock on reality; the only way he knew that everything he saw wasn't a hallucination. 

His dreams had become more vivid. He could only see if black and white, but the unmistakable figure of Garret Jacob Hobbs was in full colour. He dripped from the edges, like a fresh painting in the rain, blues and reds and pinks all mixing together, melting onto the floor, onto the side, into his mind. 

Hannibal was trying his best, he knew that. He knew that Hannibal was trying his hardest to figure out what was wrong, why Will's brain felt like it had been put in a blender then poured back into his skull.

But he could help but think that maybe, just maybe, Hannibal could try a little harder.

"Wine?" He offered. Will shook his head, body shaking, arms gripping the leather seats as his forehead dripped with sweat. Hannibal filled his own glass and took a seat opposite him.

Will could feel Hannibal's eyes boring into him. He could feel his stare, and it made his skin crawl.

"Have you experienced any more hallucinations, Will?" Hannibal asked, sipping his wine. Will sucked in a shaky breath.

"No. Well, yes, but. Not when I'm awake. When I'm, sleeping. I think." Will stuttered. Hannibal paused for a moment. Set down his glass. Leaned back in his chair.

Will... fascinated him. He was a mystery that he just couldn't solve. Well, not really. He kmew what was wrong with Will. He had been there when he was diagnosed. Anti-NMDAR encephalitis. Will didn't know yet. Hannibal hadn't told him. He wanted to see how far he could push Will. He wanted to see if he could push Will to the brink of insanity, where he would lie on the floor, murmuring incoherently and seeing things that aren't there. He wants to put his brain on his table and take it apart, just to see how it really worked, Because Will Graham was a bundle of nerves he couldn't figure out.

Will's already showing signs. He's seeing people that aren't there. He's seeing Georgia in his room, he saw Garret Jacob Hobbs and Hannibal's dining table. He had his first seizure the night that he took down Abel Gideon. Hannibal's eyes closed for a moment, before opening again.

God, did Will hate those eyes sometimes.

"And what did you see in this dream?" Hannibal folded his hands together, watching Will shake in his seat, and watching his forehead grow shinier every passing minute. 

"I... I saw Hobbs, and then, and... Everything started melting. And then I... I was drowning in my bed." He choked out. His hands were shuddering violently, slapping against the leather. His eyes were glistening. Hannibal was getting under his skin. He smiled.

"How have you been sleeping?" Hannibal asked, picking up his glass once more. Will shook his head quickly.

"I haven't." He whispered. Hannibal's lips were stained crimson. His eyes were curious. Will couldn't meet them.

"In our last session, you said you wished for me to help you take your own life. Why?"

Will didn't have the answer. 

-*-

Will didn't know why he wanted to die. He just knew he wanted to. Plain and simple. Maybe he was bored of being a used mug by Jack and the FBI. Maybe he was tired of the hallucinations. He was tired of seeing Hobbs and Georgia haunting him. He felt responsible for Georgia's death in a way. Like he could've stopped it somehow. He felt good, though, when he saw Hobbs. Like he hadn't shot him ten times or made his daughter an orphan.

Well, Abigail wasn't an orphan. Hannibal said he and Will would be her new parents. Better parents. That they would be a happy family and live in peace. Will liked that idea. That was the only good thing about his life right now. Hannibal and Abigail.

He sometimes dreams about moving to the countryside with Hannibal and Abigail. How peaceful their lives would be. Abigail would be free from her father's shadow. Jack wouldn't be constantly looking over her shoulder, searching for evidence to support the fact that he thinks she was involved with the murders. Will would be free from the stress, the constant hallucinations. He wouldn't have to worry about catching criminals and looking at murder victims anymore. And Hannibal... Well, Will didn't know what Hannibal would think, but he'd enjoy it. Their own happy family in the country.

Will rolled onto his back. He couldn't sleep. His thoughts were filled with unrealistic wishes and pleads for death and Hannibal. He hadn't been to see the doctor for nearly a week now. Ever since their last session.

Hannibal had kissed Will. It was involuntary. Spontaneous. Will hadn't been expecting it. He had been wanting it to happen, for a while now, but he hadn't expected it to really happened. He had panicked, when he pulled away, and fled, like the coward he was.

Only moments before it had happened, Will had once again asked Hannibal to help him die. Hannibal had refused by kissing him. Will didn't know why he bothered anymore. Hannibal was never going to do it. Never.

Will sighed, and closed his eyes, letting the water that plagued his nightmares fill his room and take him whole.

-*-

"Hello, Will. Please, come in." Hannibal opened his door. Will stepped across the threshold and looked around. The air felt... different. Will looked you Hannibal for clarification.

"I wish to apologise for our previous session. I let my personal feelings affect our work." Hannibal explained. Will's mouth formed an 'o'. Hannibal watched him expectantly.

"Oh, uh, it's- it's fine. I didn't mind." Will stuttered. Hannibal smiled. 

"A relief. I was worried I would have to scrap our dinner." Hannibal held out a hand, and Will took his hesitantly. Before, his hands had been shaking. When they slipped into Hannibal's, it stopped. A wave of calm washed over him. He felt at home.

"You made dinner?" Will asked. Hannibal smiled and led him to the dining room. He pulled back a chair and allowed Will to sit, the poured him a glass of wine. Will accepted it and leaned back, smiling softly as Hannibal retreated to the kitchen.

Will, in that moment, realised why he wanted Hannibal to help him die. He loved Hannibal. He had fallen so deeply in love with Hannibal, that he would happily give him the ability to take his life and finally, finally set him free. He would hand Hannibal a gun and let him shoot him as many times as he wanted and he'd be _thankful_ _._

The realisation took over his entire body, the glass slipping from his fingers, clinking onto the table. The white wine went dripping over the wood. Hannibal poked his head in and sighed quietly, turning back to grab a cloth. Will held a hand up.

"Hannibal." 

"Yes, Will?" Hannibal replied. Will took a breath.

"Kill me. Please. If you feel... anything, for me. Do it. Kill me."

"Is that what you truly want?" 

"Yes."

-*-

_Dear Whoever Finds This Note,_

_When you find this, I will most likely be dead. Actually, let me restart this. It's 7:27, I am in Wolftrap, Virginia, and my name is Will Graham. When you read this note, I will be dead. Do not blame yourself if I was close to you. This was my own decision. If I do not know you, or briefly acquainted myself with you, then I would like to kindly ask you to pass this note to Jack Crawford, Alana Bloom, Hannibal Lecter, or Abigail Hobbs._

_To those four; I do understand there is the off-chance that, yes, you will miss me. Please don't. Try and forget about me. Or something. Please. I have nothing to be remembered by, so I don't want you to remeber me. Or if you do, please make up a different version of me. A better one._

_One that doesn't experience hallucinations of the man he killed. One that doesn't see the ghost of Garret Jacob Hobbs every waking moment of his life. One that doesn't see the sullen form of Georgia Madchen, and her skin burning alight as she watches me with tears pouring down her melting cheeks. One that doesn't see things that aren't there._

_Remeber a version of Will Graham that doesn't have nightmares every time he closes his eyes, about antlers impaling teenage girls and water rising from the floor, flooding my body and drowing me as I writhe in my sleep. Remeber me as the guy who didn't see water dripping from the ceiling and moose walking the streets. Remeber a guy who doesn't have seizures, who doesn't have something wrong with his brain, where it leaves him catatonic at night and feverish in the daylight._

_I also understand I may be a friend to some. So I suppose it would be polite of me to leave my thanks to those who actually cared. (Sometimes I forget I'm writing my suicide note, not a simple speech)._

_To Alana Bloom; I apologise for kissing you those times. I can't help but feel like I was leading you on, because I'm in love with someone else, yet I tried to find stability in your lips. Please forgive me. You were one of the greatest friends I could've been given. Don't let this, and my stupid past events ruin that, whether I'm six feet under or not._

_Jack; I'm sorry I abandoned you halfway through. I'm sure there are plenty more profilers to help you, though. Don't grieve me, Jack. I don't want that. Just... pretend I never existed. For my sake._

_Abigail Hobbs; I feel like me, you and Hannibal could've been family one day. We could move to the countryside, buy a house in the fields and live in peace, away from the murder and the stress and all the bad things that had been happening. Me, you and Hannibal could be a happy family without a care in the world. Would you have liked that? Moving to the countryside, living with me and Hannibal. Would that make you feel better? Would it make you happier? If so, I'm so incredibly sorry that I couldn't be there. You're like the child I never had, Abigail. And I'm sorry I'm going to go so early. Don't lose faith in Hannibal, though. Stay with him. He'll protect you from everything. For your sake and mine. Trust me._

_To Georgia Madchen; for the short time I knew you, I knew that I made a friend that I felt like I couldn't live without. Saving you gave me a sense of purpose. It freed a part of my brain that hadn't been blended yet, and made it immune, giving me hope that I could save others like you. I'm so incredibly sorry that you had to die the way you did. I still see you, sitting in the flames as your body burns. It haunts me, because it gave me eyes that saw that all the good things couldn't last forever. Goodbye, Georgia Madchen. And goodnight._

_To my head, my soul, and Garret Jacob Hobbs; you won. From the grave, you won. Here I am, writing my suicide note, because you plagued my mind, appearing in my nightmares, tortured my every step. You have finally cracked my head in two and now all my words are spilling out across the page, and the life leaves my body and I finally leave this gosforsaken planet. You made me sick to my stomach, you made me loose the will to live, and so here I am, dying mere hours after writing these very words. I hope you're happy. I really do. Because I am._

_Once, someone speculated that Jack Crawford had pushed me to the edge, and that I was tipping myself over. At the time, I scoffed. That wasn't true. Now? Now, I realise how true it was. Jack Crawford drove me to the brink of insanity. I'm just here to make sure I don't topple in completely._

_My final goodbye is to Doctor Hannibal Lecter. I don't know if I ever said it aloud before I died, but I love you. I loved you since the day that we had out first psychiatric session, and I have loved you ever since. That's why I asked you to help me die. That's why I kept on asking, until I knew that you'd cave. That's why I wanted you to be the last person I'd see. The last person to speak to me. The last person to kiss me before I go._

_So to anyone who decided to ignore my request and remeber me for who I am, I'm sorry. I'll miss you. And I'll see you in the next life._

_It's 8:23, I'm in Baltimore, Maryland, my name is Will Graham, and I, am officially about to die._

_-*-_

"Are you sure about this, Will?" Hannibal said again. Will nodded defiantly. Hannibal sighed.

"Okay." He whispered. Will reached up, took his face in his hands, and gently connected their lips, and closed his eyes. Then he pulled back, and lowered himself into the tub, and relaxed. His coat was folded on the toilet seat, along with his button-up and undershirt. His hair was sticking to his sweaty forehead, his glasses had been discarded somewhere, and his hands were shaking slightly. So little that you could barely see it, but it was there. Hannibal could feel it.

"You don't have to do this, Will. It's not too late." Hannibal was desperately trying to talk him out of it, but Will wasn't having it. Hannibal wasn't done picking him apart. He couldn't have Will dying now. But how could he ever deny Will's face? Especially after waking up so many times in cold-sweat, after dreaming about this very experience.

Hannibal grabbed the silver knife of the sink slowly, taking a deep breath before he crouched at the side of the tub. Will had his eyes closed, and Hannibal pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"I love you, Will." He murmured. Will's eyes snapped open, but Hannibal was already bringing the knife down, piercing the soft skin of his arm. He moaned in pain but stayed still, as Hannibal dragged the knife further down his forearm. He could feel blood tricking over his skin, rolling off of his fingers, but his arm had gone numb, unresponsive. Hannibal, with eyes Half-Blood, gently poked though the tender flesh of his other arm and dragged down. But by this time Will had gone completely numb. But he had never felt so alive as he did in that moment.

Will could barely feel Hannibal creating another line on his arm. He couldn't really feel anything. But he could see. He could see everything. He could see the blood falling into the bathtub, he could see the red staining the white ceramic. And just before his vision darkened, he swore he could see tears in Hannibal's eyes, as he watched his lover bleed out in his tub. He could see Hannibal staring again the cuts he made. He could see Hannibal regretting every decision he made, but it was too late.

But when Will Graham finally felt his soul soaring, when he finally felt like he was free forever----

 

 

\--- He woke up, shooting up from his bed, tears pouring down his cheeks. His dogs were huddled around him, whining as their master sobbed into his hands, screaming in frustration and pulling on his curls as he scratched the skin on his arm, because  _it had all been a fucking dream._


End file.
